Reunion
by danceswithsmurfs
Summary: IMPORTANT MESSAGE INSIDE PLEASE READ. With Kyle having moved away, Stan seems to be sinking into an alcohol-fulled depression. The only person that can save him, however, is the person responsible. Style oneshot. xD


**PLEASE READ THIS.**

**So this isn't my work. It was written by my friend Felicia. And I really like her writing, but she won't put it on FF because she thinks it isn't good enough, or people won't like it, or something like that.**

**SO I NEED YOUR HELP.**

**If you like this, PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE leave a review telling her how awesome it is! That way, I can show her and (hopefully) convince her to make an account and post all her South Park fics xD**

**THANK YOU. 3**

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Stan always enjoyed the sunset over Stark's Pond.

In a place like South Park, where he'd lived since before he could remember, recognizable beauty was few and far between. Sure, there were the mountains. Once accustomed to, though, they were nothing but a vague jagged sketch in the distance, ever looming but dormant, useless. In a stupid place where so much stupid shit happened all the time, the simple things in life were to be cherished before they got ripped away again by the coming inevitable catastrophe. It was a doomed place, a cursed place, but it was their place. They were together there.

They hadn't been together for a long time. Stan inhaled sharply, before releasing a flat pebble from his fist and watching it skip along the rippling water's surface. He didn't know why he kept doing this to himself. He kept dragging his ass back to sit in the same spot, watching the same pastel sky, and quietly hoping for a reunion that wasn't going to happen. He wasn't coming back.

He didn't even remember how long it'd been since he'd left high school. He did, however, recall how heartbreaking it was.

They'd played baseball together for the last time, the day before people started to leave. All of them, together, with the girls fighting to one side about which of their scrawny teams would prevail. Stan remembered that it had been sunset then too, pale orange streaked with gold, reflected in wet green eyes.

He wondered if Kyle's eyes were still so vibrant.

They'd argued, before he left for college. He was going to some prestigious school, everything he had worked for and more. He deserved it. Still, Stan had been stupid; Stan had been naïve, thinking that his best friend would leave his dreams in the dust just to accommodate him. Stan was selfish. He could survive at his college perfectly well on his own, but Kyle was far away. He was sure the distance would destroy him.

That's why he was left behind without a word, without a goodbye, because he'd been an asshole and let the one good thing in his life just slip away. For good.

His own idiocy made him want to vomit. Grimacing, he reached for the bottle of whiskey resting next to him, his fingers closing tightly around its neck and squeezing. Now, here was one thing that wouldn't leave him. It made his life slightly more bearable, he supposed.

"Don't you fucking dare drink that." Okay, was he drunk already? Was his subconscious that intent on mocking him that it was fabricating that voice? With a disbelieving scoff, he brought the bottle to his lips.

Before the alcohol reached him, it was ripped from his hand and thrown, viciously so, smashing against nearby rocks. Stan growled, turning to face his company, only to be locked in a menacing green-eyed gaze. Not just any green eyes, though.

His green eyes.

"Dude. I told you not to." Kyle's voice was firm but surprisingly patient.

"What're you doing here?" He bit back instantly, but it was dry, with no venom or bitterness or malice. It was an almost broken sound. He saw that stern look falter, the façade cracked, and Kyle was turning away, skulking to the water's edge with his hands shoved into his pockets.

"Kenny called me. He told me you were at the hospital last week." Ugh, he should've known that Kenny would have something to do with this. He was thrilled to see him, but not if a fucking lecture was on the cards.

"What about it?" Stan retorted, almost lazily.

It was the wrong thing to say. The redhead spun on his heel, his face crimson, his whole body trembling with fury.

"Stan, you had your fucking stomach pumped! You're going to drink yourself to death! I felt so bad about leaving you alone here, and it's been eating away at me for months! I just left you like that… I didn't even say goodbye…" He was yelling, and the words were coming thick and fast, just like the streams of tears pouring down his flushed cheeks.

Stan couldn't answer.

"I should've known you'd react like that. You could've died. Oh god, you could've died. You could've fucking died and I would have never said goodbye to you!" Kyle's hysteria was gaining momentum by the second. He looked so shaken, so vulnerable, with his torrent of ginger curls unkempt and dark circles beneath his eyes. He hadn't been sleeping.

He didn't know what possessed him, but the one precious person in his life was standing before him at last, the one person that was his to protect, and Stan had to lunge forward.

Without thinking, barely even looking, he dragged Kyle into his arms, winding his fingers tightly into his hair and holding him against his body. His grip was tight; maybe if he didn't hold on, he'd disappear again, and this would all just be a figment of his imagination, a fantasy to fill the aching loneliness that even the alcohol couldn't soothe.

"You really are here, aren't you?" He bit his lip, watching those eyes turn to him once again, glimmering with the sunset just like they'd done so long ago.

"I wish I'd never left you." Kyle sniffed. Stan let out a breathy laugh, pulling away to cup his face gently in his hands, using his thumbs to brush away tears.

"Kyle. I want you to be happy. I know that place full of snobby assholes-" He started. "Stan." The redhead folded his arms and arched a brow.

"Sorry, dude. I know that place makes you happy. I just thought you hated me." He sighed, lifting one arm to comb his fingers back through his hair, and then to pinch the bridge of his nose. "I could never hate you, you stupid fuck."

Words he'd waited to hear for months were punctuated by a pair of soft lips pressing to his.

Oh, how he'd missed this.


End file.
